The Statistic
by Sharona1981
Summary: A young girl from the streets is in urgent need of help and turns to Robert McCall for his assistance.
1. Chapter 1

**The Statistic **

**(A teenage girl ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time and is in urgent need of assistance. This is my first Equalizer fic-there's no romance, or fluffiness, none of that sappy stuff,LOL. I'm not even entirely sure this story will go anywhere, to be honest, but I grew up on The Equalizer-I guess you could call this my own little tribute to Robert McCall, and indeed, to the late Edward Woodward, who made the role so iconic.) **

Chapter 1-Nicole 

Nicole Baker had spent most of her young life being carted around from one foster home to another, having been abandoned outside a church when she was only two hours old.

When she was thirteen, she decided to run away from a system that she deemed an utter failure, and had been surviving on the streets ever since. Needless to say, nobody had sent out a search party for her. But then, she was a nobody...

Nicole was used to sleeping rough by now. She relied on kindly passers-by or sympathetic store owners (both of which were, admittedly, in fairly short supply in New York) for food, or, as a last resort, she stole from stores. She'd pretty much become a pro at the art of distraction at this point. She wasn't a BAD person-it was all a matter of survival.

She hadn't had much in the way of a formal education while in the care of the State, but had, from a young age, shown a natural aptitude for art, particularly portraits. She had a talent for drawing faces, every nuance and curve, every expression. She'd once dreamt of being a serious artist, but had realized by now that that was exactly what it was-a DREAM...

The warehouse was dark and dingy, and seemingly abandoned, when Nicole strolled in. It was a bit breezy, to say the least, but she had a sleeping bag with her, one she had 'obtained' from a sporting goods store about a month ago. It was a little grimy by now, obviously, but it wasn't like she had easy access to a washer-drier.

Completely lost in her thoughts, Nicole froze suddenly when she realized there were voices coming from only feet away. One seemed to be pleading for mercy, while the other was cold, raised in anger:

"...Please, just give me some more time! I promise you'll get every cent back-just gimme a couple more days!"

"...You've had all the time you're going to get. Nobody gives me the runaround."

Nicole knew she should turn and run, but she let her curiosity get the better of her, and slowly inched forward, until she could see the men more clearly. Even in the dim light, she could see a man kneeling on the ground, hands raised in supplication.

There were two men standing over him, both pointing guns in his direction. One man stood out-he was tall and thin, and his hair looked dark, but his most distinguishing feature was a crooked scar, that disfigured the right side of his face. He looked mean as hell. She was rooted to the spot, as the scarred man said casually, "Goodbye, Joey.", and the sudden burst of gunfire made her instinctivey clap her hands over her ears and cry out. And she didn't realize the grave mistake she'd made until she saw the men turn their focus from the now VERY dead man lying on the ground, to her.

Nicole was perhaps not as streetwise as she should have been, but she understood with dawning horror that she had just witnessed a murder. And these guys did NOT look happy about it. The man with the scar growled and stalked towards her, gun raised. In a lame attempt at humour, she quipped, "Sorry, guys, took a wrong turn-I guess this ISN'T the Hilton, huh?", then turned tail to run.

However, while Nicole was a very fast runner, even she couldn't outrun a bullet. She clearly heard the crack of the gunshot, and almost immediately after, felt an excruciatingly painful burning feeling in her left shoulder. She saw the blood, felt dizziness overwhelming her, and then, somewhere at a distance, the faint sound of sirens.

"There's cops out there, man, let's go! She's done anyway!"

Like smoke, the three men disappeared, leaving Nicole lying on the ground, her shoulder blazing with agony. Loss of blood and pain rendered her unable to stir for several moments, but she knew she had to get out of here before she bled out, or worse, those men came back to complete the job they'd thought was finished.

Stumbling outside clutching her wounded shoulder, blood seeping between her fingers, Nicole looked blearily around as people walked past her, either not seeing that she was injured, or choosing to ignore it. And there wasn't a cop car in sight, which meant those sirens had come from further away than she thought.

Spotting a phone booth nearby, she almost fell inside. She was on the verge of unconsciousness, and the pain was almost unbearable, the light beginning to fade. Picking up the receiver with trembling hands, she first dialled 911, then hung up before it even began to ring. She was a homeless kid, a statistic. She knew from experience that the cops would be of no help. They probably wouldn't believe her, or they might even blame her. But then, who could she turn to?

Nicole leaned against the door, feeling faint, her shoulder screaming, blood dripping onto the floor, and felt tears coming. She didn't want to die like this, alone and in pain, but there was no one else, there...

Quite by accident, her eyes fell on what looked like a newspaper cutting, taped to the far window of the booth. She had to squint to read it, shaking now:

_*GOT A PROBLEM? ODDS AGAINST YOU? CALL THE EQUALIZER. 212-555-4200* _

She had to grip the door to maintain her balance, then fumbled in her pocket with her right hand, and some loose change tumbled out, clattering to the floor. "Aw, crap." She muttered, teeth chattering, and then her knees gave way, and she slid down onto the floor. Slowly, using her legs, she hauled herself back to her feet, her vision wavering.

Using the last of her strength, she put a quarter in the coin slot, and punched out the number, and heard a dial tone on the other end. Then, a man's voice, in an accent that was definitely NOT a New Yorker's said, "McCall." Then, with obvious impatience when there was no reply, the disembodied voice snapped, "Hello? Hello!"

Sucking in a breath, Nicole whispered, "Please... help...", hoping he could hear her, before her world went black...

**(Next chapter, McCall and Kostmayer to the rescue. Please R&R!) **


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2-RESCUE

**(As I'm Irish, and have never been to New York, I won't be mentioning any place names in my story, because, geographically speaking, I'd probably be way off. To the kind reviewer who asked about Control...sorry, he's not going to feature in this, but I hope you'll read on anyway.) **

Mickey Kostmayer sighed, glancing sidelong at the older man behind the wheel of the sleek black Jaguar XJ6. Since McCall had got that strange silent phonecall, he'd been like a man on a mission. As it happened, Mickey had been in the apartment when McCall's phone had rung. When nobody had spoken at the other end of the line, Mickey had tried to tell Robert it was probably a prank call, but whoever had called didn't hang up, and when he finally replaced the receiver himself, he murmured, "Something's wrong , Mickey. I can feel it."

They'd managed to trace the call to a phone booth nearby, and as Robert pulled the Jag over to the curb, he turned to Mickey. "Go on, say it." He said. "You think this is a fool's errand, don't you?"

Kostmayer threw up his hands, then pointed over to the phone booth in question, which was ostensibly empty. "You tell me, McCall." He said, in the resigned tone of the long-suffering. "There doesn't seem to be anyone here NOW, does there?"

When McCall didn't reply, he went on, "Come on-it was probably some schmuck who saw the ad and thought it'd be funny to..."

He trailed off when Robert turned and glared at him, that hint of cold steel in his eyes. Even Kostmayer knew to keep quiet when McCall had that look on his face. "If I find out," he said coldly, "That this was somebody's idea of a joke, then they will be VERY sorry-that line is supposed to be open to people who ACTUALLY need help." A pause, and then his anger seemed to disappear, and he added, more quietly, "But I have a bad feeling about this-I think there's someone out there in trouble. REAL trouble, Mickey."

Kostmayer had learned to trust Robert's judgement by now-and, to be fair, his hunches were usually right on the money. But this just seemed off-if whoever had called was in so much trouble, why hadn't they said anything on the phone? Robert was out of the car and approaching the phone booth, which did indeed look totally deserted. Whoever had made the call was probably gone by now-but then, where were they? And why hadn't they said anything? The tiny side street was deserted, and the only building in the vicinity was a derelict warehouse, which looked like it hadn't been in use for years.

McCall approached the booth slowly, well-honed instincts on red alert, hand over the gun concealed under his trench coat. And then, he stopped short, mouth dropping open in horror, an involuntary gasp escaping him.

There was a young girl slumped at the bottom of the phone booth, face deathly pale, her left shoulder a bloody mess. It was clear she'd been shot, and the phone receiver was swinging slowly back and forth, emitting the low hum of an open line.

Robert felt sympathy wash over him, followed almost immediately by cold anger. No wonder nobody had spoken when he'd answered the phone-this poor girl had probably passed out before she got the chance. What kind of callous bastard would hurt a child like this? For that was all she was, a mere child-she couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen.

Robert McCall did not look like your stereotypical 'hard man', per se. In his mid-fifties, with silver hair and British accent, he looked quite the gentleman. Which, of course, often worked to his advantage-because nobody expected someone like HIM to save anyone. But he was NOT the kind of man you wanted to trifle with-as many had learned to their detriment. As whoever had hurt this girl would ALSO learn.

Kostmayer saw the horrified expression on his friend and mentor's face, quickly clambered out of the car, and called out to him. McCall turned quickly, eyes flashing, and Mickey knew something was wrong. He had come to know that look-it was Robert's patented,_ 'Somebody is going to PAY!' _expression.

Without hesitating another second, McCall yanked open the booth door, picked up the abandoned receiver and called an ambulance, barking out orders and directions to the operator.

When he hung up, Mickey came closer, and saw exactly what he was so angry about. "Jesus"' He breathed. "What the Hell...?" He then watched McCall's expression change to one of immense compassion as he slowly knelt next to the fallen girl. "You can't touch the body, McCall." Mickey warned him, and Robert snapped in riposte, "For pity's sake, Mickey, she's not DEAD!"

Then, as if to confirm this, the girl moaned and stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering. "Please..." She murmured. "Please...help..."

"It's alright." McCall reassured her, voice eminently gentle. "It's going to be fine. There's an ambulance on its way, and we're going to help you. I promise you, we will find whomever is responsible. You have my word. Just hang on."

Robert sighed as the girl's eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness again, wishing that the ambulance would just hurry the Hell up...

**(Sorry for the brevity of the chapter, as I've said before, I'm still not sure where this is going, but I'll get there in the end. Next up, a recovering Nicole meets 'The Equalizer', and tells her story. Please R&R!)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-Meeting McCall 

**(I want to thank the people who reviewed-I'm glad you're enjoying so far, and I think I have an idea where this is going now,LOL. I also want to dedicate this story to Paul, who is an even bigger Equalizer fan than I am.) **

Thankfully, the ambulance didn't take very long, and Mickey had to lead a very reluctant McCall back to the car as they heard its distant approach. "If they find us here, we'll be seen as suspects, you know that.' He said urgently. 'Come on, let's go."

Before he left, Robert tore the newspaper cutting advertising his services from the booth window, took a pen from his coat pocket and wrote,_ 'Please call again as soon as you can.' _Then he placed the piece of paper in the pocket of the girl's faded and tattered jeans.

By the time the ambulance arrived, they were well on their way, McCall fretting and fuming all the way back to his apartment. "I hope she'll be alright." He muttered, more to himself than to Kostmayer. "Whoever hurt her might still be out there, looking to finish the job." He paused, and then added, voice rising slightly, "We should have followed the ambulance, Mickey."

"And then what, McCall?" Mickey retorted. "We try to talk to her? How the heck could we do that-we don't even know her name!" Voice softening, he added, "She's in good hands for right now, Robert."

McCall sighed. He knew Mickey was right, that they had taken the only practical course of action-but he was still worried. When that poor girl woke up, she would very likely be confused and frightened. He only hoped that she would find his message and call him back. After all, she obviously still needed his help...

When Nicole regained consciousness moments after arriving in hospital, she did indeed feel confused and frightened. She had no idea how she'd ended up in hospital, and momentarily, had no recollection of exactly what had happened, until, then, it all came flooding back-the man who had been killed right in front of her very eyes, the man with the distinct facial scar, being shot. She was nearing hysterics when a kind-looking doctor came in, introduced himself as Doctor Logan, and gently explained to her that she was in the best possible hands.

"How did I get here?" Nicole asked finally, and Doctor Logan replied, '"An anonymous phonecall. Whoever called made it pretty clear that the situation was urgent."

An awkward expression flitted across his face for a moment and then he asked hesitantly, "Could it have been...whoever hurt you? They did explain you'd been shot."

Nicole shook her head vigorously, then flinched as the simple movement caused her wounded shoulder to flare up again. "No." She gasped, through the pain. "They didn't want to hurt me-they wanted to KILL me. But they got spooked before they could finish the job."

The doctor nodded, then produced a syringe. "You were found in a phone booth." He told her. "I guess you were trying to call for help." Gently, he took her wrist, and said, "I'm going to administer a pre-op shot now. We'll have to get you to theater stat, to get that slug out, okay?"

Nicole nodded, but her mind was fuddled, consciousness starting to fade before he ever put any drugs in her system. But she held onto one coherent thought for several moments, something the doctor had said: _ "I guess you were trying to call for help." _

The Equalizer. Was HE the one who...?

Darkness ensued...

It wasn't until a couple of hours after she'd been brought back from theater that Nicole felt remotely able to get out of bed. Of course, she was under strict orders NOT to move, and if she was caught she would be marched right back to bed. But Nicole had never been one to lie still for very long, and even now was no exception. Her clothes were flung across a plastic chair near the bed, and she slowly reached out and grabbed for her jeans, and a piece of paper fell out of one of the pockets. Frowning, she picked it up, heart hammering against her chest when she saw it was that ad she'd found in the phone booth, containing that number she'd called. And there was something else written there too: _'Please call again as soon as you can.' _

It WAS him. He HAD called the ambulance. And he apparently still wanted to help her.

Very slowly, carefully, Nicole levered herself out of bed, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her shoulder still hurt a lot but she really didn't think she could stay here-what if those men came looking for her? She was pretty sure that they wouldn't just let her go-although they had displayed a certain amount of ineptitude when they'd just fled the scene like that. They hadn't really believed her dead...HAD they?

She was just in the process of getting dressed-no mean feat, with only one good arm-when a nurse came bustling in, shaking her head emphatically when she saw what the girl was attempting to do.

"Oh, no." She said, not unkindly. "No you don't, honey. You've been seriously injured, and you need to get back into bed."

Seriously injured? She could wind up DEAD if she stayed here! "I need to make a phonecall." Nicole said urgently, noticing now that the nurse's head was still shaking from side to side even as she was speaking.

"Uh-huh." She argued firmly, already trying to shepherd her back to bed. "Are you trying to get me FIRED, honey? I let you leave this room, and Doctor Logan will have my butt in a sling!" Her expression softening a little, she added, "You need to get some rest, okay?"

Okay, so maybe mentioning the phone was a bad idea; Nicole tried a different tack. "Can I get something for the pain?" She asked, wincing for effect and clutching her wounded arm. So she wouldn't win any Oscars anytime soon, but she was an artist, not an actress.

The nurse looked thoroughly unconvinced, but finally sighed, conceding, "I'll ask the doctor. Now will you PLEASE get back into bed?"

Nicole started to obey, but as soon as the nurse left the room, she got right back out again and started to fish in her jeans pockets, praying that she still had just one dime left.

Just one. Just one... YES!

She pulled the coin from her pocket, staring at it as if it were manna from heaven, then realizing that she didn't have much time, she hurriedly-as hurriedly as she could, anyway-got dressed, then walking to the door of her room, she peered around the corner to ensure the coast was clear, then took off to look for the nearest available phone, thanking God that while her arm hurt like a mother, she could still run like Hell.

Bursting through the double doors, she found herself in a long corridor, next to a massive cafeteria and store, and looked around frantically for a phone. Finally, she caught sight of a bank of four or five payphones, and rushed over. Nicole took a quick glance at the number still stuffed into her pocket, tossed her dime in the slot and dialled, feeling an almost inexplicable shiver of fear ripple through her, as if subconsciously sensing imminent danger. She looked around, but could see nothing, or nobody. For the moment, at least, she was safe.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, without a reply, and Nicole felt her fear intensify. What if this man McCall was out? What if they came back, and he was too late? What if-?

_Please, _Nicole thought desperately. _Please, pick up the phone_.

Seven times, eight times...she was about to hang up in defeat when she heard a familiar voice: "McCall."

For a moment, she was so surprised she couldn't speak, but when the voice, rising slightly, said, "Hello?", she found her voice. "Don't hang up!" She exclaimed. "Please...Mister McCall?"

'It's alright.' He sounded slightly gentler now. "How can I help?"

Nicole sucked in a deep breath, then explained, "My name's Nicole Baker. I'm in hospital, and...I think it was you who got me here."

She heard the man on the other end of the line utter a deep sigh and he murmured, "Oh, thank heavens. Are you alright?"

He knew who she was; in relief, Nicole rested her head against the shelf that housed the particular phone she was using, and then, knowing she only had a couple of minutes to tell him everything relevant, she continued quickly, "I think so, but I'm afraid to stay here, in case they find me. I'm scared and..."

"Which hospital are you in, Nicole?" Mister McCall seemed to sense her fear and quickly cut to the chase. She told him, and he went on, briskly, "And where exactly are you now?"

She glanced quickly around again and replied, "I'm on the ground floor, right outside the main ward, next to the cafeteria."

"Hmmm." He seemed to be thinking, then he told her, no, ORDERED her, in a voice that brooked no argument, "Nicole, I want you to stay EXACTLY where you are. EXACTLY, do you understand? Do not move. Do not go back to your room. Wait for me there-I should be with you in less than twenty minutes. Understood?"

Nicole couldn't help but feel intimidated; this British guy might have agreed to help her, but he sounded like an army general, forceful and authoritative. Still, he'd already helped her once, so she wasn't about to argue. "Yes. Thank you." She said meekly, and disconnected the call, immediately feeling a prickle of unease raise the hairs on the back of her neck. She felt as if she were being watched, which seemed crazy, and yet, considering what she'd already gone through today, completely sane. But surely they wouldn't know she was here.

Ten or twelve minutes passed, and she surmised that the nurse must have figured out she was missing by now, and wondered why she wasn't looking for her-though maybe she wasn't important enough. Suddenly, Nicole heard a noise coming from up the corridor, somewhere near the cafeteria, and instinctively, she shrank back against the phones, mentally deriding herself for her cowardice.

_You're from New York, Baker,_ she thought._ Pull yourself together! _

However, all thoughts of pulling herself together fled her mind, when two men suddenly appeared only a few hundred yards from where she was standing-one of them wearing a VERY distinct facial scar._ Oh, God... _

Without another moment's hesitation, Nicole turned tail and ran, barely hearing one of them shout, "There she is!" She ran, naturally, as if her life depended on it-mainly because it DID-pushing past nurses and doctors and trolleys, her heart pounding, a combination of fear and adrenaline making her run faster than she had in a long time. She knew that Mister McCall had to told her to stay put, but she couldn't very well do that when faced with two guys who wanted her dead!

Spotting a back exit, Nicole veered left and headed that way, her good shoulder colliding with the swing doors as she burst outside-and then collided bodily with someone else as soon as she did. "Whoa!" Kostmayer gasped when the young girl smacked straight into him. And he'd thought going 'round the back was a good idea. But then, as the girl looked up at him, pure terror written all over her face, he realized this was exactly who he and McCall were looking for.

Suddenly, she screamed, and Mickey quickly reached out and took her arm, taking care not to touch the injured one. "It's ok." He hissed. "It's alright-we're here to help you."

Nicole looked at this young, handsome guy and quickly deduced that this was NOT the man she'd called. He had the completely wrong accent, for one thing. "Let GO of me!" She protested, struggling mightily against him, and then, she realized exactly what he'd said:_ "...we're here to help you." _

Still suspicious, she glared at this newcomer with obvious mistrust. "Who are you?" She demanded, and before he could reply, a very familiar voice said from behind her, "This is Mickey Kostmayer, my associate."

Nicole turned sharply, and gasped. This was...SO not what she'd been expecting. For a start, she'd been expecting someone, well, YOUNGER. Not what looked like a silver-haired gentleman in a sharp suit. THIS was the guy who was going to help her? "M-Mister McCall?" She queried uncertainly, and the older man nodded tersely.

"Robert McCall." He elaborated, then added sharply, "I thought I told you to stay put, Nicole."

Nicole's incredulity that this guy, probably in his fifties, was actually going to stop a couple of criminals from killing her was fading fast, replaced by something bordering on deference. McCall's shoulders were squared, a look of intense determination on his face, and she was suddenly acutely aware that this man was far tougher than he looked. "That was the plan." She said finally. "Except while I was waiting, I suddenly had company, so I had to get out of there pretty fast." Her eyes widened in abrupt panic, and she added, terrified, "They're still in there, Mister McCall-and I'm pretty sure they're armed."

"You mean, whoever shot you?" Mickey spoke up and Nicole glanced at him, then nodded. "Two of them." She replied, and without asking her to explain further, Robert turned to Mickey and ordered, "Watch her. I'll be back."

Nicole stepped back quickly when she saw McCall draw a gun from his coat. "You sure it's a good idea to take one of those into a hospital?" Mickey joked, and Robert levelled a hard glare at him, then disappeared inside.

"Is it really a good idea for him to go in there alone?" Nicole asked nervously, and Mickey grinned. "Don't you mean, _'Isn't he really old to be handling something like that all by himself?'" _' When she blushed, he added, "Come on-I saw how you looked at him. You were expecting somebody a little bit younger, right?" Nicole didn't reply, but nor did she deny what he'd said, and Mickey went on: "It's okay. Happens a lot with McCall-people call him for help, and then, when he shows up, they don't believe he's for real." Leaning closer, he told her, much more seriously now, "But trust me, Nicole, if I were in trouble-and I often have been-Robert McCall's the one guy I'd want fighting my corner."

Nicole nodded at this; there didn't seem to be any reply required, and they stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Robert suddenly re-appeared, a little out of breath. "They've gone." He informed Nicole. "One of the interns inside said he saw two suspicious-looking men chasing a young girl, but when security was called, they left in rather a hurry." He smiled slightly, then said, "These men seem rather desperate to catch up to you, Nicole. Perhaps it's time you tell me why?"

So, she told them the whole story, about looking for a place to sleep, finding the warehouse, the man who was killed in front of her by two men, and then being shot herself. "Do you have any idea why this man was killed?" Robert demanded, and Nicole responded, "I'm not sure, but it had something to do with money. Before he was shot, the guy said that he'd pay back every cent, but these guys weren't prepared to listen. And they just...they just killed him." Her voice started to tremble, and her eyes welled up as she said falteringly, "And then, they shot me. I was just...I was just looking for somewhere to sleep."

She looked up blearily as McCall laid a comforting hand on her good shoulder, his expression kind. "You didn't do anything wrong, Nicole." He said gently. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Then, Kostmayer piped up: "Would you know these guys if you saw them again?"

"One of the guys was pretty nondescript." Nicole admitted. "But the other...he had this scar on his face, it..." She stopped, as an idea occurred to her, and she asked, "Do either of you have a pen and paper?"

The two men exchanged puzzled glances before Robert produced a pen from his pocket, and after a moment, a receipt of some kind. "Best I can do." He told her. "May I ask what-?" He didn't finish his question, as Nicole took the proffered items, slapped the piece of paper against the flat wall, and went to work.

At first, McCall thought she had perhaps caught a glimpse of a license plate number that might help, until he say that she wasn't writing-she was drawing. The outline of a face quickly appeared on the paper, followed by easily discernible features, marred by a long, crooked scar, and Robert gasped, while even Kostmayer looked admiring. This girl had talent.

When she was finished, she handed the paper to McCall and said, with a slight smile, "I never forget a face, especially one as ugly as that. Does it help?"

McCall looked down at the incredibly detailed miniature portrait in his hand, and nodded. "Oh, yes." He affirmed. "This DEFINITELY helps." Then, musingly, he added, "I wonder now as to the best course of action. Considering your injury, it's probably best you stay here..."

"I can't!" Nicole interrupted, looking terrified now. "Oh, please, I can't stay here! They'll come back, you know they will!"

Robert nodded grimly. "You're right." He agreed. "This will be the first place they return to." He glanced at her bandaged shoulder, then sighed wearily. "Come on." He told Nicole. "Let's get you somewhere safe..."

**(NEXT, ROBERT LEARNS MORE ABOUT NICOLE-AND DANGER ENSUES...PLEASE R&R!)**


	4. Chapter 4

**(There won't be very much happening in this chapter, except some background on Nicole, but I hope you'll read and enjoy anyway.)**

Chapter 4-Building Trust 

Robert and Mickey carefully and quietly led Nicole out around the back of the hospital, Mickey grumbling all the way. "You know we're basically abducting this kid, right?" He said sharply, and she snorted. "Do I LOOK like I'm being abducted?" She said sarcastically. "And I'm not a kid!"

As Robert rolled his eyes at the childish dispute, Mickey countered, "Oh, yeah? S o, how old are you, then?"

"Seventeen." Was the churlish reply, and McCall almost stopped up in surprise, then took a surreptitious look at the girl next to him. Despite the worn-and-torn hard look indicative of a life on the streets, she was still pretty, with jet-black hair and azure blue eyes. She was also tiny, barely more than five feet. She looked much younger than seventeen, and yet, strangely, also older.

Nicole realized McCall was looking at her funny, and thought he was dismissing her claims of being seventeen outright. "I swear I am." She insisted. "I'd show you my birth certificate-if I had one."

Robert and Mickey exchanged glances over her shoulder, both essentially signifying the same thing-that they needed to know more about this girl if they were to help her.

As they rounded the corner, Nicole came to an abrupt halt, as she saw the most gorgeous black Jaguar. She didn't know much about cars, but this was obviously a thing of beauty. And her admiration and amazement only intensified when she realized that McCall and Kostmayer were headed directly towards it. The two men had only gone on about a hundred yards when Robert turned and saw that Nicole had stopped in her tracks and was gaping at his car with her mouth hanging open. Amusement warred with impatience as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Is that...YOUR car?" Nicole gasped, and he nodded curtly.

"Yes, it is." He told her. "Why-what's wrong with it?"

"What's _WRONG_ with it?" She repeated incredulously. "There's nothing _WRONG_ with it-it's a freaking JAG!"

Glaring at Mickey when he muttered, "Girls love the car," Robert went over to her, and shepherded her towards it. "Charmed, I'm sure." He replied. "Now, shall we go?"

Once safely deposited in the back of McCall's car, Nicole gave herself a few moments to think. She knew these guys wouldn't be finished questioning her, which was cool, but she had her own unspoken questions as to what was going on here, why this middle-aged British guy went around helping people and drove a car that probably cost more than a deposit on a house in Manhattan. Oh, and he had a gun. And she'd just got willingly into a car with him and his...SIDEKICK. Momentarily, she wondered about the wisdom of her choice, then acknowledged that she'd really HAD no choice. It was either go with these guys, or stay back there and probably die. Besides, it was probably a little premature, considering that she'd just met them, but...somehow, she knew they weren't going to hurt her. Then again, she wasn't exactly the best judge of character.

As McCall drove smoothly through the darkened streets, he glanced several times at his young passenger in the rearview mirror. The back seat seemed to engulf her, and he was struck by how vulnerable she looked. It seemed odd to him, since, as she was obviously from the streets, she should seem tougher. But, on the other hand, she was basically a child who had suffered a great trauma and was now being hunted by men who wanted to kill her. It was really no wonder if she was feeling frightened and overwhelmed.

"What if they follow us?" Nicole's voice broke the silence. "I mean, they must have followed the ambulance to the hospital, otherwise they wouldn't have known where I was." When there was no immediate response, she pressed, "They could be following us right now."

"Good." Robert's single-word reply froze her into shocked silence. Was this guy for REAL?

"GOOD?" When she finally regained her ability to speak, the word came out as a high-pitched squeak, irritating to her own ears. "Are you insane? These guys are dangerous, Mister McCall!"

Mickey turned in his seat to look at her, cracking a sardonic smile and jerking a thumb in Robert's direction. "So is HE." He told her. "Even if you don't think so."

Nicole gave him a withering look. Mickey Kostmayer was definitely too big a smartass for his own good. "I never said he..." She stopped. No point in going over that, especially in McCall's presence. She knew she'd had her doubts about him, but those uncertainties were now dissipating fast.

"Besides," obviously Kostmayer didn't like silence. "There are two of us, and two of them. Pretty good odds."

"At the warehouse, yeah." Nicole replied. "And at the hospital. But that doesn't mean there's only two of them altogether. For all we know, there could be a busload of these guys trying to track me down!" She stopped talking when McCall abruptly pulled over and killed the engine, then turned to her. Even in the dark, she could see the steel-eyed look of determination that seemed to be so characteristic of him.

"Nicole," he said patiently. "I don't care if there is an entire ARMY of men out there looking for you. I promise you that I won't allow any further harm to come to you. Do you understand?"

Nicole had never trusted anyone. People had to earn trust, and she'd never been around anyone long enough for trust to be merited. Besides, any time she had considered trusting someone, such as whatever foster family she'd been put with at any given time, she'd been hurt, betrayed. But now, there was Robert McCall-he was stern and unyielding, but for some reason, he seemed to sincerely want to protect her, despite the fact that he didn't even know her. And despite the defensive barrier she'd learned to construct after years of pain and disappointment, a little mental voice told her that she could trust this man. That she could trust BOTH of these men. She nodded, looking Robert right in the eye. "I get it." She said firmly. "Thank you."

They travelled on in silence for a little bit, and suddenly Nicole felt the fear that had been fading return tenfold, when she realized that they were pulling up outside the warehouse where all the trouble had started, and the phone booth where she'd lain in agony. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and she was about to ask what was going on, when Robert drew his gun and turned to Mickey. "Watch her." He ordered. "I won't be long."

"No!"

Robert froze when Nicole grabbed his arm, her face ashen.

"Don't go in there by yourself-what if THEY'RE in there?"

He offered her a small smile. "Nicole, that is exactly why I AM going in there." He replied. "You shouldn't go in without backup, McCall." Mickey was inclined to agree with Nicole; armed or not, deadly or not, McCall was only one man. "Let's hold back, call Jimmy or Pete, see if they..."

"There is no time." Robert retorted sharply. "This girl has already been hurt once, and I want to ensure that there is no repeat of that. I'm going in alone, because the only alternative is to leave Nicole in the car by herself, and there is no way I'm doing that."

Mickey laid a restraining hand on McCall's shoulder, drawing his own gun. "Let me do it." He said, and when his friend began to protest, he cut in, "Robert, you checked the hospital. Let me do this."

Robert seemed about to relent, and Nicole watched this unfold with tears stinging her eyes. She seemed to be on the verge of tears a lot lately, which was so unlike her, but the knowledge that these guys were willing to face down darkness to protect her moved her no end, and made her feel immeasurably grateful. "You don't have to do this."

The voice was small, but both men heard and turned to look at Nicole as she spoke. Her eyes were wet with tears and she was trembling, and Robert felt a pang of sympathy. Hesitantly, she added, "I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."

Mickey responded before McCall could speak. "Nicole, it's okay." He said reassuringly. "We know what we're doing, I promise." He got out of the car, and Nicole and Robert watched him enter the warehouse.

Once he was gone from sight, McCall fetched a sigh and turned his attention to her. "Mickey was right, you know." He said. "We DO know what we're doing. You must trust us. After all, you WANT these men to be stopped, don't you?"

"Of course I do." Nicole replied. "I just...this isn't what I expected."

Robert smiled, a genuine smile that practically commanded her to smile back, which she did. "And what DID you expect?" He enquired gently.

Nicole didn't know what to say by way of reply to that. "I-I don't know." She said finally. "Not...this. But it could be worse."

"Oh?" The amusement crept from Robert's voice; he sounded quite serious now. "How?"

"You could be the police." The sharp tone in Nicole's voice as she said this made Robert's blood run cold. Obviously, she did not hold the New York Police Department in very high esteem, and he was about to ask her why when Mickey suddenly reappeared.

"Coast is clear." He informed them, climbing in next to McCall again. "No sign of anybody in there-" He looked pointedly at Nicole as he spoke "-alive or otherwise."

For a moment, she didn't understand, and then, the enormity of what he had said sank in. "The body!" She gasped. "But if it's not there...they must have moved it, probably dumped it somewhere." Believing she saw disbelief on Mickey's face, she insisted, "It was THERE, Mister Kostmayer-I saw this guy get shot, remember?"

"Hey, I believe you." Kostmayer extended his hands in surrender. "And call me Mickey, okay?"

McCall didn't say anything for a moment, and Nicole was suddenly desperately afraid that they were having second thoughts about her story. "Mister McCall." She hated the pleading sound in her voice. "I swear, I'm telling the truth. I wouldn't lie to you." A pause, and she murmured, "I wouldn't dare."

"She's catching on." Mickey joked, but McCall barely glanced at him. Instead, he spoke directly to Nicole.

"I know you're telling the truth, Nicole." He said bluntly. "I just needed to collect my thoughts." He started up the Jag. "Which I can do much more comfortably at home. I need a drink-and we need to take a look at that shoulder. Does it still hurt?"

Nicole shook her head. "No, it's okay." She replied. "The doctor patched it up pretty good, I think."

"Hmmm." McCall's tone was contemplative, even as he pulled away from the scene. "Still, I think Mickey should get a look at it, just in case."

Kostmayer turned in his seat just in time to catch Nicole's extremely dubious expression, and he grinned at her. "Hey, don't worry," he told her, trying to sound comforting, and not quite succeeding-there was too much humour in his voice. "I used to be a SEAL-I know my way around a bullet wound."

Nicole looked completely incredulous, and Robert, glancing between the pair in the rearview mirror, struggled to hide his amusement. "YOU were a Navy SEAL?' She sounded completely disbelieving, and Mickey now looked more than slightly offended.

"You wanna take the surprise out of your voice?" He said sharply. "Why's that s hard to believe?"

"Do you want me to answer that?" Nicole's quick retort had Mickey opening his mouth to argue back, until McCall cut them both off.

"Children, please." He said wearily. "Can we save the petty arguments for later?"

Immediately, they both fell silent, and the journey to Robert's apartment was completed in relative quiet. Nicole was feeling increasingly like she was in way over her head here-she had entrusted her life to a sarcastic bigmouth who may or may not have been a Navy SEAL, and a British guy who dressed really smart, drove a ridiculously expensive car...and lived in one of the most upscale brownstones in the area, obviously. This guy, McCall, obviously wasn't short of cash-so why was he helping someone like her?

Robert's apartment was spacious and finely furnished, and yet, seemed to perfectly match the man who lived here. Right away, he went to put the kettle on, and instructed Mickey, "You know where to find the gauze and antiseptic in the bathroom. Just see if the wound is healing, and if the dressing needs to be changed."

Nicole found herself being shepherded into the bathroom by a much more gentle-looking Kostmayer. After a minute's fumbling in a cabinet, he approached her, wielding a roll of gauze, a small bottle of antiseptic, and a scissors. Setting them down on the rim of the bathtub, he gesturned for Nicole to sit down, then said, "Now, honey, you need to sit with your back to me, and pull your shirt up, so I can get a look at that shoulder, okay?" Mickey may as well have asked her to strip and dance the Hokey-Cokey; he doubted her reaction would have been as negative.

She withdrew, cowering. "Isn't there some other way?" She whimpered. At the hospital, it had been different-she'd been unconscious, and after...they hadn't asked any awkward questions. She was just another kid from the streets to them, after all. But Kostmayer...he was different. He would have PLENTY of awkward questions, she was sure of it. Of course, Mickey completely misinterpreted her reaction, and he reached out to her, shaking his head. "I won't hurt you, Nicole." He said gently, but firmly. "I swear, I won't hurt you."

She understood that Mickey wouldn't hurt her-it was the OLD pain she was worried about. "I-I can't." The voice that emerged from her mouth was not really hers at all, but that of the frightened child she had once been.

Kostmayer was more than a little concerned now. Nicole didn't just look frightened-she looked absolutely petrified. The problem was, he wasn't sure it was HIM she was scared of. "Nicole, it's okay." He insisted, gently taking her by the forearm. "Just let me see-it'll be fine, I promise."

Nicole was close to tears, but she obeyed slowly, reluctantly, turning her back to Mickey and sitting on the edge of the bath. With hands that shook, she lifted the back of her shirt, squeezing her eyes shut when she heard Mickey's gasp of shock. Kostmayer had witnessed so many horrifying things in his life, he had pretty much lost count, but he still wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. It looked like Nicole's entire torso was covered in scars-burns, cuts, gashes. This poor kid had been hurt terribly, long before today, it seemed. "Oh, Nicole..." The aching sympathy in Mickey's voice was too much for her, and she started to cry, great, heaving sobs that made her body shake.

"I'm sorry." She wept. "I'm so sorry." She didn't even know what she was really apologizing for.

Mickey stood, walked around the weeping girl, then dropped to his knees in front of her. "Who did this, Nicole?" He enquired, voice barely more audible than a whisper. "Who hurt you?"

Her reply very nearly broke his heart; "Everybody."

McCall was making tea when Mickey came bursting out of the bathroom, and he was about to ask what on earth had happened, but the expression on Kostmayer's face stopped him short-the man looked close to tears. It took a moment for Robert to speak, and when he did, it was to very quietly ask what was going on.

Mickey took a deep breath, and replied, "Robert, she's...she's been hurt. Badly. Kid's covered in scars. None of them look all that recent, but..." He stopped talking fast when a look of unbridled fury passed over his friend's face-he knew nothing angered Robert more than a child being harmed.

Nicole looked up blearily when Robert came striding into the bathroom, and he realized he must still look furious, because she backed against the wall, eyes widening. He shook his head, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't direct his anger at this innocent girl-but he was even more eternined now to find someone he COULD direct his anger at.

Out of the corner of his eye, McCall saw Kostmayer lingering in the doorway, and said quietly, but with authority, "Give us a moment, Mickey, could you?" His request was silently obeyed, the door closing behind him. Fetching a sigh that seemed to come from his shoes, Robert gingerly perched himself exactly where Mickey had been sitting a short time ago, then asked her, his voice steady and level, with no trace of anger, "Why didn't you call the police, Nicole?"

"I did." Nicole felt herself welling up again, and off McCall's look of surprise, she continued hesitantly, "The first time was when I was six years old, and my foster father decided I was being naughty and beat me with a stick. I called them again when I was ten, and the sixth foster family I was placed with left me alone in the house for almost a week with nothing to eat." She paused, looking into McCall's face, and could clearly see rage and sorrow battling for the forefront there. "The last time I called was when I was twelve. I was in my last foster home and got burned with cigarettes by one of the older kids. All the cops ever did, Mister McCall, was ship me from a bad family to one that was much worse-that's why I've been on the streets all this time. That's why I called you when I got shot. I've learned not to trust the police. I've learned not to trust anybody." Her voice cracked, and she started to cry again.

Robert didn't trust himself to speak-he wasn't sure he wouldn't start crying himself. He coughed to clear the blockage from his throat, then told her, incredibly soft and gentle now, "I'm going to make you a promise, Nicole. Not only am I going to find the men who hurt you today, but I am going to make sure nobody ever hurts you again." Then, anger creeping into his voice, he added, "I cannot believe you were simply ignored like that!"

"I'm a number, Mister McCall." Nicole wiped her eyes, sniffing. She'd learned the hard way that tears did her no good, but the kindness she was being shown now that she had never experienced before, had brought them out. "As far as the cops are concerned, I'm just a statistic. I'm nobody."

"You are NOT nobody!" She almost recoiled from Robert until she realized he wasn't angry with her. "You are a young woman who has been treated appallingly by a system that was meant to protect her!"

"I'm not the only one." Nicole was getting braver now, her voice growing stronger. "There are hundreds of kids like me out there, neglected, ignored. We don't exist-not as far as most people are concerned, anyway."

"What about your parents?" McCall's question was an innocent one, but when her expression hardened, he felt that perhaps it hadn't been a very WISE one.

"I don't HAVE any parents, Mister McCall." She replied coldly, and he persisted,

'But everybody has parents. Oh...are they...dead, perhaps?'

She snorted, a sound that was completely devoid of humour. "Apparently, I was left outside a church when I was only a couple of hours old. I never met my PARENTS-and considering what they did, I wouldn't really WANT to."

It was on the tip of Robert's tongue to tell her that it was possible her parents had left her outside a church because they'd wanted her to have a better life than perhaps they could offer her-but since, if that had been their intention, they had failed miserably, he decided not to broach the subject. Instead, he got to his feet, wincing as his joints protested at the movement. "We'll talk more later." He told her. "Let Mickey take a look at that shoulder first, alright?"

"Thank you, Mister McCall."

Robert was halfway out the door when she said this, and he turned, smiling. "If we are to get along at all, Nicole," he replied. "Will you please call me Robert?"

She smiled in reply, and he left the room...

**(Next-danger arrives on McCall's doorstep. Sorry if this was a little on the 'angst-y' side,LOL. Please R&R!)**


	5. Final Chapter

**FINAL CHAPTER **

(_First of all, I'm so sorry about the delay in updating; inspiration escaped me. As it is, this chapter will probably end on a flat note-though I already have a sequel in mind, lol. Thanks to the people who reviewed!)_

Robert pushed a cup of tea and a plate of eggs and bacon he'd hurriedly cooked into Nicole's trembling hands, smiling gently. Mickey had patched up her shoulder, and she seemed at least a little less tense than she had a few minutes ago.

While outwardly, he was the picture of perfect calm, inside, McCall was simmering with barely suppressed rage. He wanted to find the people who had put that expression of terror on Nicole's face, and those scars on her body, and wring their bloody necks, one by one. _Slowly_. For now, however, his only concern was this young girl.

'Do you think they'll come here, Mis-_Robert_?' Nicole corrected herself, using McCall's Christian name as he had instructed her to. Robert frowned at her question, but it was Mickey, seated on the kitchen countertop and swinging his legs back and forth like a child, who answered: 'Let them try. We'll be prepared.'

Nicole knew better by now than to press the matter further, but she couldn't help feeling uneasy. She knew now that she could trust these men, they had more than proven themselves, but she felt guilty for possibly bringing trouble to Robert's own doorstep, and, honestly, doubt was starting to creep in again.

Robert McCall was undoubtedly capable of taking care of himself, but he was middle-aged; would his reflexes be quick enough under attack? After all, she'd never actually seen him in action.

As for Mickey Kostmayer, former Navy SEAL or not, he seemed to be too much of a joker for serious business. Even if he _did_ know his way around a bullet wound.

As if reading her mind, Robert finally said, 'Don't worry, Nicole. Mickey's right-if they _do_ dare to come here, we'll be more than ready.'

Nicole smiled uncertainly, and stared down into her teacup, as if the dark liquid in there could give her reassurance. She really should be more trusting, she told herself. These men were prepared to fight to keep her alive. Nobody had ever done anything like this for her before. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, sincerely, managing to keep both men in her direct eyeline, 'I want you to know how grateful I am, to both of you. Whatever happens.'

Impulsively, Robert reached across the table they were sitting at, and quickly squeezed her hand. 'You can express your gratitude when these..._men_ -' He used the term grudgingly, considering what they had done to Nicole-'are apprehended.'

The two men watched as Nicole nodded in apparent satisfaction, then tucked hungrily into the simple meal Robert had prepared for her. She felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks, and the food tasted like Paradise.

While Nicole ate, Mickey jumped off the countertop with one agile movement, and went to the window, carefully pulling the shades aside, and looking surreptitiously out onto the street. It was quiet, he thought. too quiet.

_Great_, he said to himself derisively. _Now you sound like some clichéd cowboy_.

It was true, though-in a strange way, the silence was deafening, and Mickey felt impatient suddenly. If these scumbags planned on finishing the job, he wished they'd hurry the Hell up already.

He barely glanced up when McCall joined him at the window and said in a low voice, 'I'm certain they'll come here, Mickey. They won't want to let her get away, not now.' He looked sidelong at the teenager sitting at his kitchen table, shovelling forkfuls of food into her mouth, and a ghost of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, then quickly disappeared. Careful not to raise his voice, he added, 'I won't let them hurt her. We're more than able to hold them back, if need be.'

Mickey nodded in agreement, also staring at Nicole. This kid had been through more than enough already, and, like Robert, he felt a kind of impotent rage that she had been hurt so terribly, and a determined desire that she wouldn't be hurt again. Honestly, earlier trivial arguments aside, he quite liked Nicole. True, she was scared as Hell, unsurprisingly, but he could also sense more depth and tenacity in her than the girl herself probably realized.

The sound of a car braking sharply outside, some distance from the apartment, broke through the peace and quiet. Nicole heard it too, and the fork clattered onto the plate as she dropped it, terror gripping her all over again. Instinctively, she knew it was them, and her hunch was confirmed when Mickey rushed over and practically dragged her up off her seat, albeit with a gentle hand. 'Get in the bathroom, Nicole.' He tried. 'And lock the door. _Now_.'

Too dazed and frightened to protest, Nicole obeyed, scurrying into the bathroom, but not before she saw Robert hurry over to what looked like a workshop, and simply flick an unseen switch. A panel slid up and did a one hundred-and-eighty degree turn, revealing a shelf. Full of guns. She gasped, and was then pushed inside the bathroom. 'Bolt the door and lock it.' All traces of the joker were gone; Mickey Kostmayer now looked grim and determined, and the tone of his voice denoted an order, not a request.

As soon as Mickey heard Nicole lock the door from the inside, he turned to McCall, who pressed a handgun to his friend. He turned the safety off his own firearm, eyes cold. 'Let's go.' He said shortly.

Nicole sat on the bathtub, knees knocking, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. The knowledge that these two men, whom she'd only met hours ago, were taking their own lives into their hands, filled her with dread. She was terrified that they'd be killed, not only because then those men would be free to kill _her_, but because she'd feel personally responsible if anything happened to Robert and Mickey. She liked both of them by now, despite her misgivings and doubts. They were obviously good people, even though nothing about them added up. Helping someone like her with no word about payment was strange enough, but the fact that Robert drove a brand new Jag, and lived in an expensive apartment was even stranger. It didn't seem like his chosen line of work-whatever his chosen line of work actually _was_; there didn't seem to be a name for it-would pay all that well. As for the guns...

But none of this mattered. All that mattered was that they were in danger. Nicole had never been particularly religious, but she dropped her head to her chest anyway, and began to pray...

As it turned out, Robert and Mickey's job was an easy one. The two men looked intimidating, but their incompetence in not killing Nicole in the first place continued in their handling of the current situation. They were disarmed fairly easily, and then Robert, with a cry of rage, grabbed the scarred man while Mickey detained the other, and pushed him against the wall, twisting his arm behind his back. 'Like hurting innocent children, do you?' He snarled, knowing Nicole wasn't quite a child, but not quite an adult either. He was in full-on vigilante mode now, and neither criminal had the balls to be able to retaliate. 'I ought to rip your bloody _throat_ out!'

By the time Robert and Mickey were done, they got a blubbering confession, not they were much able to talk. The scarred man was called Steve Adams, the other, Greg Cooper, both of them drug dealers. They had dumped the body of their debtor, a fellow drug runner named Jeffrey Harris, into the river, as well as Nicole's sleeping bag and meagre possessions, which she had discarded in panic after being shot and then apparently forgotten about in all the excitement. When they heard sirens, Robert and Mickey left the two men, barely coherent and battered, and slipped away like smoke. The NYPD were late, as usual, whoever had called them-'The Equalizer' had done the hard work, as usual. They should have no problem getting a full confession from those two idiots. As for Nicole, there was no way either McCall or Mickey was leaving _her_ in the hands of the police or the state again...

Nicole couldn't hear a thing from inside the bathroom door, and every second felt like an eternity. She hated not knowing what was going on, and briefly wished she could have been of more help, then quashed the thought just as quickly. She was a homeless artist, and had no idea how to fight properly, or use a gun-she knew she would be more a hindrance than a help.

She could only hope and pray they were alright...

The footsteps clattering up the steps and the knock on the bathroom door caused Nicole to gasp audibly and scrunch her body up, trying to make herself as small as possible. What if it was..._them_? What if...?

'Nicole?' Blessed relief flooded her when she heard Mickey's voice, and she hurtled to the door, unlocked it and flung it open. Kostmayer let out a muffled, '_Uh_!', as she barrelled into his arms, flinging her arms around him. Behind him, Robert smiled, as Nicole babbled, 'Oh, thank God! Thank God you're alright!'

More than a little embarrassed, Mickey extricated himself from Nicole's embrace, and she hugged Robert in turn. 'Been a long time since a girl's been _that_ happy to see me!' Mickey joked, feeling his face turn red.

McCall himself wasn't quite as embarrassed by Nicole's blatant delight to see them alive as well as his friend had been, but nonetheless, he was also quick to walk away from her. Then her face darkened. 'Those men.' She said slowly. 'Where are they? What happened?'

Over some more tea, Robert and Mickey told her what had happened, the inordinate stupidity of the two men. Nicole snorted with laughter when she heard how easily they'd been overpowered, then hung her head. 'I'm sorry if I wasted your time.' She mumbled.

'Nonsense!' Robert replied, smiling now, his anger gone. 'They still shot you, and you still needed my help. And I was glad to help.' He shot Mickey a glance, then amended, '_We_ were glad to help.'

Mickey nodded, an easy grin resting on his face. The joker returned, Nicole thought. 'Any excitement's better than none.' He quipped, then, more seriously, he added, 'You're ok, Nicole. That's all that matters...'

_(Epilogue to come-I'm sorry this was so crappy, lol. Do read and review if you feel the urge though!) _


	6. Eplogue

(So sorry for the LONG delay in updating-finally got this and the first, albeit short, chapter to my sequel written, which will also be up shortly.)

EPILOGUE:

Two days had passed since Robert and Mickey had saved Nicole's life, or at the very least, stopped two stumbling, would-be criminals from completing their botched assassination attempt on an innocent young woman.

Nicole had returned quietly to life on the streets, and while she couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone watching over her, she believed that her adventure was over, and she would never see either man again. So, she was therefore surprised when, one night, walking down the street, a familiar black Jaguar pulled up to the curb, and the passenger door popped open, almost inaudibly.

With a smile, Nicole slid into the car, glancing at Robert, who had one hand on the wheel, while the other was taking a sheaf of papers from the glove compartment.

"You really like this cloak-and-dagger stuff, don't you?" She quipped, not in the least bit intimidated by the disapproving frown McCall cast in her direction. She knew she had nothing to fear from Robert McCall. _Other_ people, however…

"Are you alright?" The frown and curtness of the tone didn't serve to detract from the honest concern in the older man's voice, and Nicole nodded. "I'm surviving, Robert." She replied. "It's what I'm good at. When I'm not getting shot at, that is."

"Hmmm." Robert said absently, then deposited the papers in his hand onto her lap. She looked at him, puzzled, but he simply said, "You deserve a little better than mere survival, Nicole."

Still utterly confused, Nicole turned her attention to the papers. She saw the heading, _**THE GALLERY-COMMUNITY ART COLLEGE**_, then Robert added quietly, "I've arranged an interview for you. It's not exactly prestigious, but it's a step in the right direction for someone of your talent. Of course, it's up to _you _to convince them you deserve a place, but while I have only seen one example of your work, your little portrait was enough to persuade the lady who runs the place to at least give you a chance."

Nicole was listening to what McCall was saying, but she couldn't read the information on the college he had gleaned for her, and she couldn't reply, because she had a lump in her throat that felt as large and obtrusive as a golf ball, and her vision was completely blurred by tears.

Robert McCall was saving her life all over again.

Seemingly oblivious to Nicole's emotional state, Robert continued, "Even better, accommodation is provided on campus, which means that not only will you be doing something you enjoy in the name of education, but you'll also have somewhere to live."

Robert hadn't expected ebullient praise for his good deed, but neither had he expected silence. Nicole's head was bowed low over the papers, and awkwardly, he said, "I know it's not much, but it's a start, isn't it?"

His chest tightened when she finally lifted her head to look at him, and he saw the tears streaming down her face. Before he could make any comment, she whispered brokenly, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The customary response, "You're welcome", never got past Robert's lips, as Nicole suddenly and unceremoniously launched herself from the passenger seat and flung her arms around him.

She had previously hugged him after the showdown with her attackers, but this embrace was even more enthusiastic. She was sobbing, and Robert was sure that the lapel of his expensive jacket was already soaked…but he didn't care. This was the reply to anyone who might have the nerve to ask why he didn't charge the people he helped for his services. No amount of money could compare to heartfelt gratitude like this.

When Nicole finally pulled away, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes, she asked, "How can I repay you?"

"Simple." He told her, smiling. "Stay out of trouble. And don't give up-I have absolute faith in you."

Nicole swallowed and nodded, realizing that this was farewell. "Goodbye, Mister McCall." She smiled, once again ignoring the frown he threw at her for not using his Christian name, as he'd told her to, then, ever needing the last word, she added, before she left the car, "I hope I never see you again."…


End file.
